


Three Sentence Fics

by stackcats



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:05:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2614427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stackcats/pseuds/stackcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my three-sentence fics written for prompts on tumblr. Mostly TTOI, Malcolm/Jamie, some Malcolm/Julius, some other.</p>
<p>This has one three-sentence fic per chapter, and therefore is best (least annoyingly) viewed as whole work on one page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilfreysjazhands prompted: "Malcolm/Jamie + flirting"

Malcolm’s doing the Thing today, the thing no one else seems to notice but which sends Jamie a thousand very loud, utterly irresistible signals.

 

It’s the Thing where Malcolm goes to hand Jamie a folder but whips it away and forces Jamie to move in close and grab it and take it from him, the Thing where Malcolm purses his lips and looks away and fiddles with his pen when Jamie says something in a meeting, the Thing where he bares his teeth at Jamie from across the room, goading him, daring him…

 

And so, when everyone else has gone home for the night, Jamie snatches Malcolm’s phone and chucks it aside, runs his hands up Malcolm’s slender hips, and turns him, and pushes him down against the desk, and does what Malcolm’s been silently begging him to do all day long.


	2. Anonymous prompted "Malcolm, Jamie, and the Scottish independence referendum"

Malcolm’s done the thing, the one-liner soundbite stating his (useless, with his North London postcode, but nevertheless completely honest) position, sending ripples through British politics and causing jaws to drop and knickers to twist for the first time in years.

 

The thrill is no longer there, he doesn’t care if his own, lone, (admittedly quite loud) voice will make any difference to anybody, and that’s chilling, like the breeze from the door slamming shut on that part of his life, and most frightening of all, he’s almost pleased about it.

 

But then some stupid sod opens his mouth and lets loose an opinion in a starchy Oxbridge drawl, and for the first time in twenty years, Malcolm finds himself on the pavement outside a pub at 2 o’clock in the morning, dragging Jamie away from a fight because the state he’s in he’ll probably fucking maim the other guy, and there - there is thrill Malcolm’s been missing all these years


	3. Pilfreysjazzhands prompted "Malcolm/Jamie on a work trip abroad"

Every so often, one of their colleagues will work up the courage to ask Malcolm why he keeps a barely-trained pit bull, aka Jamie MacDonald, around the place, since the man is seldom seen up to anything other than re-iterating Malcolm’s commandments in an even louder, even angrier voice, and Malcolm’s answer is always the same ambiguous statement; Jamie is a man of many talents.

 

He likes to keep those talents a secret, so that when they’re at a summit in Oslo and Jamie starts asking locals “hvor er den billigste alkoholen?”, or visiting the embassy in Paris and Jamie announces to the room, “Cette ville sent la chaussette,” there’s always someone in the British entourage who comes close to shitting themselves in surprise.

 

But Malcolm’s favourite reason for keeping Jamie around are nights like these, warm and balmy despite the open windows in Malcolm’s room on the thirteenth floor, Jamie sliding his arms around Malcolm’s waist from behind, and hissing, “Ti faro urlare di piacere,” against his neck.


	4. placetnemagistra prompted: "Jamie is still a priest and Malcolm has never found anyone who measured up."

He still fights it every time he’s back in Glasgow, but he never wins, and he ends up, year after year, sitting in the cool, dry air of St Bernard’s, on a pew near the back, with his eyes closed, waiting less-than-calmly until he’s the only visitor there.

 

He might be Father MacDonald to the parishioners, as sharp-tongued and fearless as he is steady and forgiving, but all Malcolm can see, after twenty years, is the boy he should have kissed the one time he had the chance.

 

And they’ll sit together as the afternoon grows dark, as the rain comes in and the wind calls them out, and Jamie will tell him that he saw him on telly, that he could do Malcolm’s job ten times as well as he does it himself, and Malcolm will take the cue and ask the same question he’s been asking for decades, but the answer will always be the same.

 

_"You’ll never need me as much as they do."_


	5. Bollockingface prompted "Malcolm/Jamie, New Year's Eve"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (a sort-of VDoN deleted scene)

Malcolm can act the part, no problem. He wraps his heavy coat around Kelly as they hurry from the car, through the cold night air into the warm glow of the house and the buzz of the PM’s New Year’s Eve party.

 

She’s perfect, bright and witty, drawing people in with her smile, her casual touches. She’s wearing the red dress Malcolm bought her for Christmas, the earrings he gave her for her birthday, the hairpin he got her just because. He has the envy of every man in the room, and one or two of the women. When he kisses her at midnight, it’s not without a flush of heat and a little dizziness.

 

But she’ll go home alone, and he’ll tell her it’s work, and he’ll leave the car and go by foot. This time, Jamie’s there first. His tie’s at half-mast, there’s mud on his knees, and his breath stinks of whisky, but to Malcolm he’s everything, he’s sex and warmth and life, he’s the tarmac and the grey slate, he’s the summer sun and the crisp chill winters of home. The act is finished, the mask’s gone, and when Jamie takes him to bed, the new year’s begun.


	6. Jexxer prompted "Malcolm/Julius + tactile relationship, fluff, please?"

It’s one of Malcolm’s strangest idiosyncrasies, that deep-seated need for regular physical contact juxtaposed with a violent loathing of public displays of affection.

 

Julius doesn’t know if he’ll ever figure out what made him this way, but he’s learned how to interpret it.

 

Today, Malcolm’s been particularly waspish, jabbing Julius in the shoulder to emphasise his points, flicking paper balls at him, kicking his shoe, and even, at one point, yanking Julius’s tie to get his attention, so when Julius gets home, he bundles Malcolm into the shower, kissing him as they clean the day away, then wraps him up in a robe, snuggles him down on the sofa, and sighs happily as Malcolm traces little patterns across his skin.


	7. Jexxer prompted Malcolm/Julius and "Sick Malcolm"

Of course it would be Julius’s Aunt Sarah who visits immediately after Jamie and Frankie have gone.

 

Julius puts out tea and sandwiches and scones, and Malcolm gleefully tells the story (again) about the twat on a moped that clipped his elbow, broke his arm, and knocked him over.

 

Julius sits there frantically sipping at his tea and trying to pretend his dear old Auntie who supports the dance school and plays the harp and does flower arranging for the church isn’t sitting here chatting animatedly to a man with _'ya daft cunt'_ written on his plaster cast in thick black ink


	8. Anon prompted "Malcolm/Julius, working class hero"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's room at the top, they're telling you still  
> but first you must learn how to smile as you kill  
> if you wanna be like the folks on the hill

The suit Malcolm wears to court is the one Julius had made for him ten years ago, and he’s not sure whether to be more surprised that Malcolm still has it, that it still arguably fits, or that Julius still pings loud enough on Malcolm’s radar to warrant this vicious jab.

 

Most of the time, Julius is confident that he knows Malcolm, that he can tell when the man he once thought loved him back is lying, and when he isn’t.

 

Now, watching him smile, seeing him relaxed and friendly at his own criminal prosecution, his serenity that of a kamikaze pilot who knows his aim is perfect, Julius is sure of only two things; that he never knew Malcolm Tucker, and that he is more helplessly in love with him than ever.


	9. Alfa-arts prompted "Malcolm/ Julius : cemetery."

Cold nights make Malcolm amorous, make him seek warmth and comfort, and Julius can’t pretend that his penchant for autumn evening walks has nothing to do with that at all.

 

He chooses a trail that leads away from the village, down a narrow track, dark and still and quiet thanks to the canopy of trees that meet each other overhead, until a path opens up to the left and Malcolm walks ahead, turning to look at Julius with mischievous eyes before disappearing between the trees.

 

Julius catches up with him beneath the open sky, between the ancient, crumbling stones, catches the end of Malcolm’s scarf before he whips away and pushes Julius until his back comes up against a fractured granite tomb, and he leans back, watching through the mist of his hot breath in the air as Malcolm gets down on his knees in the grass.


	10. Pilfreysjazhands prompted for Malcolm and Jamie making a sex tape

Jamie’s done it a few times - with a girlfriend when hand-held video recorders were first a thing, with his wife when they were horny newlyweds, with some guy who kept the tape for himself, a drunken one-night stand - so it’s not much of a big deal for Jamie to suggest making a sex tape with Malcolm, though he is mildly surprised that the big fucker agrees so readily.

 

Thing is, Jamie’s not thought it through, he’s forgotten about Malcolm and cameras, how much the supposedly inanimate machines adore him, how adept he is at working in front of them, and Jamie doesn’t realise it while they’re fucking, but later it’s evident that Malcolm - the shameless tart - is acting, skilfully, the whole way through.

 

It was meant to be a bit of a joke, something they could laugh over later, but when they play the tape back the next night, Malcolm just sits there smirking, while Jamie finds that, even now he’s pushing fifty, Malcolm Tucker can make him come in his pants with nothing more than a wanton moan and a filthy look directed right at the camera.


	11. Jexxer prompted "Malcolm/Julius + cuddles"

The cuddling is easily the thing that surprises Julius the most.

 

He expected sex with Malcolm to be pretty intense, borderline kinky, and it is, but Malcolm is (to Julius’s secret delight) a lot more submissive than he expected, keen to bend over or go down on his knees, quickly and positively responsive to Julius’s instructions in a way that’s confined strictly to the bedroom.

 

Afterwards, Julius expects Malcolm to roll away from him, turn his back and pretend to sleep, if not actually get up and leave, and he can’t contain a little whimper of emotional surprise when Malcolm slides a heavy arm over his waist, nuzzles into the crook of his neck, and murmurs, _Weesht, yeh big softie_ , the vibrations of his voice sinfully intimate against Julius’s skin.


	12. Capalxii prompted "malcolm x julius, exhaustion?"

Malcolm’s outstanding talent, so far as Julius can tell, is to run himself ragged and to wear his poor body to exhaustion. 

 

He quit politics three years ago now, and he still does it, sitting up until three or four in the morning scratching out ideas for his second book, or calling around Jamie and Frankie and his other former mafia henchmen because heaven forbid that, even in retirement, he should be out of the loop on the smallest of stories.

 

Julius tuts and sighs and fusses, espousing concern for Malcolm’s health, and honestly he is concerned and he wishes Malcolm would look after himself, but the mid-afternoon sun warms the back of Julius’s neck through the conservatory window, and there’s a flurry of chaffinch song from the garden, and as Julius strokes his hair, Malcolm sighs, content in an afternoon nap he’ll never admit to.


	13. Jexxer prompted "Malcolm/Julius, "Don’t fucking touch me."

The problem with finally getting what he’s desperately wanted for so many years, namely Malcolm Tucker as his partner and lover and husband-to-be, is that the Malcolm he first became infatuated with was young and confident and wore his few scars with a defiant, working-class pride that made Julius’ heart swell and choke him with some perverted version of admiration.

 

The Malcolm he finally gets is older and battle-worn, exhausted, and, quite frankly, emotionally crippled by the years he’s spent alone, he’s baffled and upset by Julius’ attempts to take care of him, and he clearly has no idea how to be part of a couple, cooking meals for himself, disappearing without notice, and (casually breaking Julius’ heart into crumbs and grinding them into dust) locking himself in a spare bedroom with a snarl of, _don’t fucking touch me_ , and absolutely no explanation whatsoever.

 

It’s not what Julius bargained for, but he’ll take it, he’ll take all of it for the nights when Malcolm slinks up against him, all touch-starved and begging to be fucked and wanting to be kissed and held after, and for the days when Malcolm pads softly into the library and picks up a book without even looking at it, stretches himself along the couch and rests his head in Julius’ lap.


	14. Zabbers prompted "Malcolm/Jamie "I'm coming, just sit tight!"

Jamie’s in the car on the way home from work, so he puts the phone on loudspeaker, says _hi, Malc, you okay?_ and finds himself bombarded by a flurry of frantic cursing that makes the hairs on his neck prickle, Malcolm wound-up almost to the point of incoherence.

 

He rounds the corner onto their street and immediately spots the source of Malcolm’s anxiety; a pack of journalists on the pavement in front of the flat, pressing buzzers and trying to get in past residents. Jamie barks, _hold on, I’m coming_ , and slams his palm flat against the horn, driving straight at the vultures and only decelerating once they scatter.

 

Upstairs, Malcolm is pacing the living room, looking wired and exhausted in one of Jamie’s ratty old jumpers, but as soon as Jamie wraps him in a hug, he sags, and sighs, and Jamie tells him that he won’t let him go.


	15. townblur prompted "Jamie/Malcolm + Jamie's Lip-licking habit, please?<3"

It is, ultimately, Malcolm’s downfall.

 

Jamie doesn’t even know he’s doing it, it happens when he’s concentrating or worried, it betrays emotion he can’t entirely contain but can’t voice either, that little nervous tick, his fat little tongue darting out to moisten his lower lip, as endearing to Malcolm as it is frustrating.

 

He’s no idea why today is the day he can’t take it any longer, what makes him snap when yesterday (and the day before, and the long years before that) he held strong, all he knows is that he’s got Jamie’s face between his hands, thumbs rubbing against short stubble, groaning with raw desire and relief as Jamie kisses him back


	16. Anon prompted "Malcolm/Jamie + laughing"

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t seem to hear him, barely seems to know he’s there as she folds the last of her blouses into her suitcase, until, closing the lid, she takes off her ring and says,  _I know everything, I know it’s him._

He could argue, protest,  _lie_ , and say  _him who?_ or  _I have no idea what you…_ but it’s been impossible for too long, and she should leave if that’s what she wants, so he just closes his eyes and asks,  _How…?_

She hesitates in the doorway, the last time they’ll ever be together in the same room, and says, as if it should be obvious, _You only laugh when he’s around_.


	17. Quietbang prompted Malcolm/Jamie "Look at me - just breathe, okay?"

In retrospect, shouting abuse at the lead singer of a rival band was not the best way to end the evening, given that Malcolm had no real idea who the other band even was, or whether they knew who  _he_ was, and especially since the other guy was a good six inches taller than him and had muscles where he, Malcolm, has elastic bands.

As he blinks his eyes open, the pain rushes in, coming from his head and his ribs and his knees, and he’s lying in a puddle of what he’s becoming increasingly concerned is  _his own_ blood, except he can’t be sure because the world’s gone a bit blurry and seems to be spinning backwards, but most alarmingly of all, there’s a priest kneeling over him, a very young and very fluffy one, and that’s when it occurs to Malcolm’s scrambled brains that he could be dead.

He tries to sit up, but several things happen all at once, including the ground rushing towards his face, a siren and several bright, flashing lights approaching, and the wee priest (who Malcolm decides he is going to _kiss_ , because he’s  _hot_ and a  _priest_ and they  _hate_ that sort of thing, but later, when he’s less dead) holding Malcolm’s head in his hands and saying, _L_ _ook at me - just breathe, okay?_ and, as they get him into the ambulance, it all becomes too much and, despite the broken ribs and the searing pain, Malcolm begins to laugh.


	18. Zabbers prompted "Malcolm/Dugdale, bollocking"

Dugdale’s first encounter with Malcolm Tucker is a lot like every civil servant’s first - the man appears from out of nowhere, good-natured charm turned up to eleven, then drops on Dugdale that even though he’s technically outside Tucker’s jurisdiction, if he so much as sneezes out of line, he will receive a personal demonstration of how the fearsome spin doctor earned his reputation.

Their second encounter was a case of mistaken identity during a visit with the Minister to number ten, and resulted in a hell of a lot of embarrassment for both of them, with Malcolm stepping up behind him in the gents’, grabbing him in a highly inappropriate way, and muttering something frankly scandalous in his ear, but Dugdale has met his press office doppleganger and it doesn’t take them long (Tucker red faced and spitting) to reach an understanding.

Their third meeting is behind locked doors, Tucker spreading out a series of photographs across the desk, Dugdale going white with horror, and meeting Tucker’s gaze, the man narrowing his eyes, and saying, “this is a bollocking, you are being bollocked, you will slink out of this room like I’ve just stapled your scrotum to your fucking kneecap, and you will refuse to tell anybody why I was bollocking you, but you will continue your career on the understanding that we are now even and equal, and if you ever fucking do this, if you ever get caught again, I will fucking sell you out to the highest fucking bidder, _do you fucking understand me, son?_ ” and Dugdale understands but, to his eternal regret, he just doesn’t listen.


	19. Zabbers prompted "Malcolm x Jamie on the Tube"

Jamie doesn’t cope well with confined spaces, in a way that isn’t exactly claustrophobia, because he isn’t frightened, but has more in common with the agitation of, say, a collection of plutonium atoms under extreme pressure.

 

He can’t just explode, he’s not a complete animal, he knows he has to behave himself around real people, but all the way from his flat into Whitehall, Jamie fidgets and grumbles, his fingers tapping irritably against the plastic seat, his knee jiggling, his eyes wide and lips parted, looking more like a small mammal backed into a corner than a government employee of some not insignificant rank and influence. 

 

Malcolm tends to have little patience for people’s neuroses, but Jamie, who doesn’t panic over nothing, is an exception, and when the train glides to a halt and the delay is announced over the intercom, Malcolm wraps Jamie’s fingers in his own, strokes his thumb across Jamie’s knuckles, and gives his hand a reassuring little squeeze, and it’s enough, at least on this occasion, to keep Jamie calm and grounded and, by his own standards, pretty well sane.


	20. Capalxii prompted "Malcolm x Julius, forced by circumstance to share a bed."

The hotel had apologised profusely, gave them free passes to all facilities, free meals, complimentary champagne, and free access to the mini bar, but the fact remained, there were only two rooms left for the conference’s last three check-ins, and Nicola practically rugby-tackled Malcolm and Julius out of the way to get her hands on one of the keys, with a cry (an entirely unwarranted one, Julius might add) of _I’m not sharing with either of you so don’t even ask, don’t even raise an eyebrow, Malcolm, I can see you thinking it!_

Julius isn’t ecstatic about sharing with Malcolm either, but for entirely different reasons, reasons that include Malcolm’s snake-hips, his throat, his long, graceful fingers, the small of his back, the angles of his shoulders, the bold sharpness of his eyes, and the way Julius goes all dizzy and giddy and quite irrational when in close proximity to the man.

The champagne makes it worse, and so does the fact that Malcolm insists on sharing it, just the two of them on their balcony, that he eats the accompanying strawberries with juicy, lip-smacking delight, and it’s a million times worse again when Malcolm changes into his pyjamas without bothering to go into the bathroom or ask Julius to look away, and, finally, Julius is lying there on his back, with Malcolm curled up beside him, the king-size bed feeling small and far too hot, and the clock ticking the night away from them.


	21. Alfa-arts prompted "Malcolm+Julius and biscuits"

Some days there is just absolutely no living with Malcolm Tucker, such as when he’s on the warpath against someone or other, or when he’s not talking to his sister, or when Jamie’s riling him up, or on afternoons such as this one, when Julius comes into the kitchen to find Malcolm sitting at the big oak table with the last two Viennese sandwiches, which Julius has made clear on several occasions are his  _favourites_ , stacked beside his coffee mug.

Julius resorts to a couple of bourbon creams and sits opposite Malcolm, (who looks like an aging rock singer with his shirt open to the third button to show a t-shirt beneath, which, Julius tells himself, is definitely more infuriating than sexy), and even though he  _knows_ he’s sulking over something minor, and this is definitely not as horrible a situation as the time the Ocado delivery substituted in Oreo cookies, he can’t help thinking that it’s the little things like these that come close to summarising their relationship, and he doesn’t  _want_ to think like this over afternoon coffee, but really Malcolm can be so oblivious to the small details that can make or break a domestic partnership.

Julius watches with hot biscuit envy as Malcolm picks up one of the viennese sandwiches and dunks it, looking briefly away from the  _National Geographic_ , into his coffee (sweet, black, strong), and Julius is almost on the verge of saying something, of pointing out that Malcolm  _purposefully_  took the last of that particular biscuit because they are Julius’s  _favorites_ , and how this is clearly some kind of childish jab at him, when Malcolm gives him one of those rare, dazzling little smirks, and leans across the table with the biscuit between thumb and forefinger, offering it out for Julius, who definitely does not feel, all of a sudden, a little silly, and a little sorry, and very,  _very_  fluttery deep in his belly as he bites the biscuit in half.


	22. Alfa-arts prompted "Malcolm/Jamie + Blood."

It’s only when Malcolm’s in the darkest of places, only when he’s walking the fine line between extreme stress and nervous breakdown, only when he needs an anchor in reality, for someone else to take the weight of responsibility, and when Jamie needs to feel like there’s something he can  _do_.

Malcolm’s hands are cuffed behind his back, his face pressed into the pillow, his arse stretched open with the second-biggest plug from Jamie’s arsenal (they’ve not yet had to use the biggest, but they will, one day), and the sheets beneath him are rumpled, stained with his own sweat and Jamie’s cum, old sheets that Jamie will burn in the morning, though dawn seems an unlikely prospect right now.

His skin is streaked with red, bites and scratches welling up into vivid whip-like marks, but it’s not until Jamie pushes him down, whispers something like a prayer, and sinks his teeth into the pale flesh of Malcolm’s shoulder, the taste of hot iron spilling into his mouth, that Malcolm sighs, and sags, and begins to bend, and Jamie allows himself some hope that tonight might not be the night that Malcolm, brittle as he is strong, breaks apart beneath his hands.


	23. Zabbers prompted "Malcolm/Jamie, one of them is a hologram"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red Dwarf crossover?

Malcolm still hasn’t been able to get his hands on a hard-light drive, so there are disadvantages, such as Jamie’s bark being 100% worse than his bite, because he doesn’t _have_ a bite any more, and the fact that they’re reduced to mutual wank sessions in place of sex (anyone else would be heartbroken; Malcolm is ever pragmatic, there are just so many ways in which life has carried on as normal since Jamie won himself a long over-due Darwin Award).

There are plenty of advantages, too.

As soon as Jamie launches into a tirade about _fucking mechanoids_ alphabetising his antique record collection, Malcolm reaches out without looking away from the news, and grabs out his light-bee, smirking as Jamie’s voice abruptly vanishes, leaving him alone in peace and quiet for as long as he wants it.


	24. Madamehardy prompted "Malcolm and Jamie were *both* in the seminary."

It’s a perfect evening for sneaking around; outside, the wind howls though the tree branches, heavy rain clattering against the single-pane windows, distant thunder rumbling across the hills, but inside, the wood-paneled corridors are dark and silent, with nothing but the lingering scent of furniture polish and incense to suggest anyone else is even here. 

It’s been a bitch of a long year since he met Malcolm, a year of wanting him, of longing glances across the lawns, of listening to his powerful, confident voice as he gives lectures and assists the professors, priests, and nuns, but Malcolm is three years older, and this year he gets his own room, and Jamie’s wait is over.

The door is, as promised, unlocked, and Malcolm is standing there in the middle of the room with his blazer half-off and his hands about to loosen his collar and -  _Christ_ , Jamie knows it’s a sin, but he doesn’t believe it - the moment the door closes behind him Malcolm’s on him, arms around him and kissing him, and for the first time in his life Jamie knows what it really feels like to worship someone.


	25. Zabbers prompted "Malcolm/Jamie, 99 flake"

The kid’s sixteen, seventeen at most, biker jacket and stupid haircut, a smudge of dirt across his face, and he grins, tongue flicking out to lick the ice cream he bought from the van as some kind of ironic statement of his own impending adulthood. Malcolm is barely-grown himself and already a cold-blooded creature, a hydra, a relic from eons past, his list of sins scratched onto the inside of his skull, but this boy erases them all, calms the burning in his head, inflames the ready kindling in his heart and his gut, and though he doesn’t have any words to put around them, there’s fresh ideas, fresh knowledge, and a sense of the future growing inside him.

He steals the flake from Jamie’s ice-cream, bites it in half, and says, “Come on, then - time to take over the world”.


End file.
